


Echoes

by Devereauxs_Disease



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: But Will's a prisoner of his own mind, Can he move on?, F/M, Hannibal is locked up, I know what the tags say but I promise this is a happy story, I swear y'all, M/M, MCD with a happy ending?, No...no he can't, it's possible, the death isn't that bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:40:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26738257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease
Summary: Hannibal Lecter has colored all the days of Will's life. Even while the Dr. is incarcerated in BSHCI, echoes of him haunt every moment of Will's life. Can Will have a normal life with a wife and a son? Or will the reverberations of Hannibal's influence lead him somewhere else?
Relationships: Molly Graham/Will Graham, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 71
Kudos: 214





	Echoes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a strange one, but I promise, it's got a happy ending. 
> 
> As always, my undying love goes to Gwilbers for catching all my errors.

Being solitary had been a comfort to Will for as long as he could remember. People were loud, they had expectations and needs that he didn’t want to meet, and he always saw too much for comfort anyway. Alone was better.

Or, it had been.

Hannibal had been sentenced to several lifetimes under the thumb of Alana Bloom, but it seemed the good doctor had taken up full-time residence in Will’s head.

_Human emotions are a gift from our animal ancestors._

Will shook his head, taking another belt of whiskey. It had been months, and Will still felt like he was fading. If he held up his hand to the light, he could almost see the dust motes dancing through it. He wondered what would happen if he did fade? Would he simply cease to be? Or would he slowly materialize elsewhere?

His biggest fear was closing his eyes one night and opening them to find himself in Hannibal’s cell.

_I want you to know exactly where I am. And where you can find me._

Will pressed his face into Winston’s fur. It would be so easy to go to Hannibal, to give the voice in his head life again. Will would weep with joy.

Alana had told him he’d been alone too long. She’d invited him to dinner with her and Margot, told him her child would love an Uncle Will. That was three months ago, before Will stopped answering the door or returning her phone calls.

Will froze.

He was letting Hannibal Lecter win. That accented voice was slipping through the cracks in Will’s bone forts, worrying them open and laying waste to the foundations. He wouldn’t let that happen again, he’d fill himself with so many people that he’d never hear from Hannibal Lecter again.

“I’m not going to miss you,” Will muttered, standing up and shaking the doctor from his head. “I don’t want to know where you are or what you do. I don’t want to think about you anymore.”

Stumbling to his phone, Will scrolled, installing the first free dating app he could find.

* * *

Will’s boots crunched over peanut shells on the restaurant’s floor. He’d smiled when Molly suggested the location as a casual first date spot. As he passed tables with buckets of peanuts sat on the corner and sticky laminated menus propped up by ketchup and BBQ sauce bottles, Will saw a clear image: Full, generous lips, the upper just slightly too big for the lower, curling in disgust before forming a resigned line. The thought made him smile. 

Will had combed his hair, worn belted jeans with a new flannel. He said in his profile he hated anything fancy. It didn’t matter that ostentatious ties and suits floated before his eyes whenever he closed them.

Molly knocked her water over when she tried to wave him down across the restaurant. She turned a cute shade of red, dipping her head to hide her eyes below her bangs. She was cute, really. Will knew he should think that.

He smiled when she started to talk, a nervous ramble about her son, her dead husband, getting back into the dating scene, and her girlfriends who were pushing her to go out more. Will made the right noises, was sure to look in her eyes, and smile whenever she sought a connection, but in his mind, he heard soft classical music playing and could smell cognac flambéing.

“Wally told me he thought I should get myself out there,” Molly laughed and Will mirrored the expression. Wally was her son; he was pretty sure. Maybe her dead husband? Didn’t matter, she didn’t catch his confusion. “So, I thought to myself I can’t just live with his memory, ‘ya know?”

That got Will’s attention. “Yeah, you’ll go crazy doing that.”

Molly smiled then, taking his hand. It was small and fine-boned, like a wounded bird, Will cradled it in his own. “Want to order some wings?”

Will nodded. “Sure.”

Molly dipped her head, that shy little glance from under her bangs again. “If we both get messy, we can’t be awkward, right?” 

Laughing, Will squeezed her hand. She really was very sweet. Nothing like-

“Hey!” Molly pulled back, shaking her hand. “Got quite the grip on you.”

“I’m sorry. I- I’m not-” Will sighed. “I don’t do this a lot.”

“S’alright. I guess we’re both rusty, huh?” Molly winked. “Don’t worry, I’ve forgiven worse.”

Will offered a non-threatening smile. “Me too.”

When the wings came, Will heard a metallic ring, like someone lifting a silver cloche off a dish. He frowned at the plate of bright orange wings, wondering where the noise came from.

_The ortolan bunting is considered a rare but debauched delicacy._

Will clenched his jaw, saliva pooling in his mouth. It had been two years, but he could feel Hannibal’s chair beneath him, the warmth of the doctor’s breath ghosting across his neck as he set the plate down.

“These are great!” Will started, smiling at Molly to cover the fact that he’d forgotten she was beside him. She had a smear of sauce on her cheek. “I could eat this whole thing!”

Will picked up a wing, bringing it to his mouth. He bit his finger instead, the press of teeth dulling the ache in his gut. He offered her a wan smile. “Bones and all?”

Molly’s eyes creased in amusement, he thought about warm maroon eyes that would squint just so when Will said something funny. “Exactly!”

Her laugh was too loud, it drowned out the sound of classical music, the melodic whisper of Hannibal’s voice.

She was perfect.

Outside the bar, Molly leaned into him, her breath smelled of cheap hot sauce. He felt a scream perched just under his chin, so he leaned forward and kissed her, the taste of cognac behind his teeth.

* * *

Walter Jr. favored his father, apparently. The boy regarded Will with a serious, uncertain look as Will cut a hole in the ice.

“Won’t this break the ice?” Walter took a step back. Something shifted in the tree line and Will pictured horns and long black limbs. He thought he could see it just beyond the shadows, watching him, calling to him. Molly emerged from the trees with the dogs, waving at them. Will frowned for a moment, before waving back.

Walter was still watching him, eyebrows furrowed. Shit. Bonding with Molly’s kid was going well. Will smiled. “It’s OK, just have to be careful, the real worry is what’s in the woods.”

The boy looked over Will’s shoulder, past his mother, eyes wide. “W-what’s in the woods?”

Will closed his eyes, he could hear Buster’s pained yelp, blood on the snow, the sound of mechanical joints creaking as Tier chased them back to the house…

“Will?” His breath had come faster, he hadn’t been scared, though, he had been excited. He had felt his muscles coiling, waiting for Tier to breach the house. His teeth had itched, bared, ready for his fangs to be tested. “Will!”

Will snapped back to Walter. He offered a toothy smile — he felt an odd impulse to snap at the boy. Instead, Will reached out and awkwardly ruffled his hair. “Nothing dangerous lives in the woods now, Wally.”

_Because I killed them all with my bare hands_.

Wally stared at Will for a long moment. He looked cautious like he was talking to the big bad wolf. It was funny how kids so easily spotted sheep’s clothing; his mother hadn’t been worried at all about bringing her son to Will’s place.

“Here, kiddo, why don’t you fix the lines to the hooks?” He handed the hook to Walter, only to watch the boy grab at it awkwardly and pierce his thumb.

“Ah!” Walter dropped the hook, blood dripping on the pristine ice. Will could hear running in the snow. He thought of Tier’s skeleton again and the heavy footfalls as he ran with Buster through the snow. Will tensed, ready to strike, only to see Molly fall to her knees in front of Walter.

“What happened, Buster? Got yourself a fishing injury?” Molly made a show of inspecting the small cut on Wally’s hand. She dug into Will’s fishing kit, producing an alcohol wipe and band-aid.

Will looked down at his own hands, they were still scarred at the knuckles and got stiff when the weather got cold. Hannibal had been so gentle when he cleaned the torn flesh, gently probing the wounds and entwining their hands. Will clenched his hands, they felt so cold now.

Molly kissed Wally’s bandaged hand. “All better. Why don’t you and I go back to the cabin, grab a thermos of hot cocoa while Will sets up? You OK out here alone, Will?”

Will felt strong fingers slip between his own, gripping his hand tight.

_Stay with me_.

Will gripped the phantom hand back, feeling calm for the first time in months. He offered Molly a genuine smile, one that wasn’t meant for her. “Where else would I go?”

* * *

“SURPRISE!” Will blinked at the two smiling faces that returned from Molly’s kitchen. They held out a store-bought cake, glopped with icing and sprinkles.

“I frosted it,” Wally mumbled, staring at his feet. “Mom did the candles.”

Will smiled wide, his face heating from the swath of candles burning before him. “How old do you think I am, Molls?”

“Just blow ‘em out, Buster.”

Will closed his eyes, he could hear the tinkling of Goldberg Variations in the back of his mind. When he opened his eyes, he saw Hannibal’s midnight blue dining room, the herbs from the wall scenting the air.

_“Happy birthday, Will.” Hannibal sat a dish in front of him. It wasn’t precisely a cake, though it was round. Will leaned close, inspecting it._

_“How did you know?”_

_“I do have access to your health records,” Hannibal smiled, sitting himself to Will’s right. “I hope you don’t mind, I didn’t think you’d celebrate yourself.”_

_“I wouldn’t.” Will had almost forgotten it was his birthday, but now he thought back over their meal. The seafood gumbo, the sweet wine that reminded him of the docks and hot summer days — Hannibal had made him a birthday feast. “W-uh- What is it?”_

_Hannibal smiled, puffing his chest as he prepared for his food lecture. “A St. Honoré cake, a traditional celebratory dish in France. It demonstrates all the classic French baking techniques at once — a puff pastry base topped with piped custard and choux cream puffs dipped in caramelized sugar.”_

_“That’s sounds like a lot of work.” Will turned the cake, marveling at the uniform piping and precise lines, it looked like a crown with spires of caramel reaching for the heavens._

_“Well I would have made a funfetti cake, but the store was fresh out, forgive me.”_

_Will grinned, letting his hand rest next to Hannibal’s on the table. Just a shift, the slightest movement of muscles and they would touch. “So, what happened to old Honoré that made him a saint? Something horrible?”_

_Hannibal tilted his head, eyes slitting in amusement. “Actually, he died peacefully. He is known as the patron saint of bakers and his body, when unearthed and laid in the city walls of Amiens, ended a deadly drought.”_

_“Even in death, he nourished.” Will’s hand twitched, he pulled it into his lap before his fingers could reach Hannibal’s. “You forgot the candle.”_

_There was a brief sound of ignition and Hannibal held up a single red candle between his fingers. The wax dripped down the thin body, pooling hot on the pads of the doctor’s fingertips. Will’s breath caught in his throat._

_“I believe it’s up to you to make a wish.”_

“Will? Will!” Will drew back with a gasp. Molly and Walter were still smiling at him, their cake tipped toward him. “Honey, you better blow out the candles before you start a fire!”

Will took a deep breath, though his chest hurt, and blew.

“What did you wish for?”

“Wally! He can’t tell us or it won’t come true!”

Will smiled, his eyes tearing. It wouldn’t matter. His last wish hadn’t come true.

* * *

Will had gotten comfortable in Molly and Wally’s cabin. The rustic walls seemed to insulate him from Hannibal most days. It was hard to think of the pretentious cannibal when he was surrounded by poly blend blankets and casseroles served in store-brand bakeware.

But today…today Hannibal had found his way through the homey walls of Molly’s little cabin. As Will stared into the fire, his gut started to ache, a pull back to Baltimore, to a man who gave him his smile.

“Can I feed it?” Walter was next to Will, the empath wondered idly how long the boy had been there.

“OK,” Will glanced at the clock, then at Molly, who nodded.

“But then it’s to bed, Buster,” Molly laughed when the terrier glanced up at her. “You can stay in bed, I just meant the boy!”

Will smiled, forced a laugh. This had been exactly what he wanted — quiet nights by a fire, dogs asleep, a little family, and simple pleasures. He loved it; he would make himself.

Walter ran to the stack of old newspapers and flyers piled neatly on the shelf by the fireplace. He really ought to add a log instead of empty kindling, but Will didn’t say anything, rubbing his stomach instead. He watched as the newspapers burned, the letters curling as the fire took them. He smiled vaguely and patted Wally’s back when the boy hugged him, probably off to bed.

Molly tapped his shoulder saying something, Will nodded, still staring at the newspaper. The print was different. Will leaned forward. The pieces of paper curling in the flames didn’t have newsprint at all. They were covered in elegant cursive, ink swirling over paper like magic — turning to ash before his eyes. Will fought the impulse to snatch the paper back, to rescue at least a piece from the flames.

Somewhere above him, he could hear heavy footsteps, the sounds of leather-bound notebooks being tossed to his feet.

_I don’t need a sacrifice_.

Will’s gut twisted again, he felt like claws had sunk into him. He had missed the sensation.

“I love you,” barely a whisper to the flames, but enough. It had been so loud in Will’s head all these years.

There was a gasp, Will thought of Abigail, of her burbling last breaths. “Will! I love you too!”

The hand that took Will’s was too small, he let it drag him upstairs to the bedroom. His steps sounded heavy and wet, like he was walking through blood.

* * *

Molly moaned beneath him, breathy little sounds as he sank into her over and over again. She felt good. Beautiful, sweet Molly and her beautiful, sweet sounds. Will closed his eyes, ducked his head for another kiss as he continued to thrust.

He’d propose to her. He’d known that from the moment he’d kissed her outside that chain restaurant with the peanuts on the floor. He’d send Alana and Margot an invitation, one with a picture that Alana could press to a plexiglass wall.

Will would have his happy little life and take pictures at Christmas to send to friends in matching outfits. He’d send those to Alana too. He needed- He needed him to know.

_We couldn’t leave without you_.

Molly. Will grunted, fingers clawing into the bed by Molly’s head. Molly Molly Molly.

_You’d deny me my life?_

Will shook his head, his stomach seemed to tear with every thrust, emptying him out. He pulled back from Molly’s kisses.

_You didn’t want it._

He had. He still did. The smell of salt and blood on Hannibal’s skin filled his nose. Will salivated, thrusting harder, digging his claws into the bed. He could see the tear trailing down Hannibal’s nose. He wanted to lick it, feed Hannibal his blood, let himself be consumed by —

Will bit into Molly’s shoulder as he came, Hannibal’s tears and name on his tongue.

He was still panting when he realized he was being shoved. He rolled to the side, gut still aching.

“What the hell was that?”

He looked at Molly, at the red welt on her shoulder. Fuck. “I’m sorry I got-”

“Will, baby, I know you didn’t mean it, but I’m not-”

He had meant it, he’d meant it with all his heart, just not for her. He hunched his shoulders, crumpling his posture to look small as he offered her a sheepish laugh “Sorry, I got a little too into it. Guess you bring out the beast in me.”

Molly smiled, still looking unsure. She ran a hand over his chest, stopping just short of his smile – she never touched the gnarled flesh and he was grateful for it. It wasn’t hers to touch. “I know you’ve got…Well…I know it’s hard for you, but I don’t like-”

Will reached forward, pulling her into his arms. She let herself be held, humming as Will stroked her hair. For a moment, he thought about digging his hands into the strands and snapping her neck. He heard a laugh echo in the back of his mind. “I’m sorry, Molls. How about this – Next time you can tie me up? Keep me right where you want me.”

She hummed, she was sticky and too hot in his arms. “Maybe I’ll just get you a muzzle.”

Will ran an absent hand down to his smile, nails scratching at the raised flesh. He thought of humid plastic wrapping around his face, of high cheekbones settled into the same mask. He’d denied Hannibal his freedom, his ability to bite. Will’s teeth ground together; he could deny himself the same pleasure.

* * *

He picked the day they got married. Molly had thought it sweet when he told her the date, holding his hand and asking why the day was special. He told her it was the day he knew he was going to propose. Molly had grinned wide, squeezing his hand.

It was the day they sentenced Hannibal Lecter to several lifetimes in the BSHCI. He usually reserved that day for getting blind drunk, but he’d been breaking patterns recently, so why not this one?

The worst part was the growing silence. The Hannibal in his head only whispered to him at night now. And the Hannibal locked in a plexiglass box hadn’t said anything in years. Will knew Bedelia and Alana got notes, Jack had told him the last time he’d visited.

Hannibal had written 7 articles for the Northern Medical Journal of Psychiatry, but not one note, one word to Will. So, Will would send him a word, several in fact:

_Mr. William Graham and Ms. Molly Foster delight in announcing their union. The wedding will be a small affair to celebrate their new family. The couple asks that in lieu of gifts, well-wishers donate to the ASPCA._

The notice ran in _The Baltimore Sun_ , one of the papers he knew Hannibal was allowed to read every day. He didn’t tell Molly about the marriage announcement.

It wasn’t for her.

* * *

Will adjusted his glasses, drumming his hand on a desk that had a pair of jumbo breasts carved into the top right corner right beneath _Kevin Lecky SUKS_. Apparently, Wally’s teachers weren’t sticklers for spelling. 

The fluorescent lighting hummed, the buzzing seeming to seep under Will’s skin. Molly smiled encouragingly at him as they listened to Walter’s teacher discuss his progress during the year.

The teacher’s words blurred together. Will tried to focus, but the humming of the lights drowned her out. There was something in the buzzing, a small noise growing and echoing in his ears.

_Beep Beep Beep_

Will tensed, hearing the heart rate monitor, smelling the antiseptic cleaner coating the hospital floors. He shook his head slightly, focusing back on the teacher, forcing himself to breathe through his mouth. His fingers continued to tap in time with the phantom monitor.

“He’s a very bright boy,” the teacher looked at him, brow furrowing. “But you’ll have to help Walter-”

The words died out.

_I helped her dispose of the body._

Will shook his head. He hadn’t heard that voice so clearly in months. His chest ached with the sound of it.

Standing, Will walked to the board at the back of the class, pretending to look at student work. He knew distantly the wall was filled with reports on local animals with crudely drawn pictures, but all Will could see were red and white curtains. He smelled the fire that always seemed to burn in Hannibal’s office.

He could hear Hannibal approaching, steady crisp shoe falls, like clicking hooves.

“How are you settling in, Mr. Graham?” Will tried not to flinch at the teacher’s hand on his shoulder. “How do you find being a stepfather?”

_We are her fathers now._

Will turned, facing the teacher and offering a shaking smile. He nodded, opera playing softly in his head. His lips felt dry suddenly, he longed for a glass of wine, though he hadn’t touched the stuff since… Since.

The teacher studied him for a moment, Will didn’t blame her for the concern he saw in her eyes. She turned away after a moment, going back to Molly and pointing out one of Wally’s reports. Will went back into his head, the scent of the fire and approaching cologne calming him. A phantom hand landed on his shoulder, Will’s whole body flushing warm under the pressure of that powerful grip. He hadn’t felt that grounded in months.

* * *

Will looked at the rows of fish nestled in ice. They were fresh-caught, probably by the skiffs that went out before the sun to supply the open market. Will had thought about selling some of his excess catch to the stall himself. He’d always had a knack for catching fish, might as well make some money off of it.

But today, Will wanted more than tarpon and bonefish. He smiled at the man running the stall.

“I’d like four rock lobsters and a half-pound of oysters, please.”

The man raised an eyebrow as he began to scoop the oysters into a bag. “Celebrating?”

Will nodded. “It’s my anniversary.”

Will watched as the fishmonger picked out the lobsters, packaging them before using antiseptic on his hands. The smell assaulted Will’s nostrils, he closed his eyes, picturing Molly, looking drawn and pale as she lay in her hospital bed.

She’d looked so frail, her hands cold when he took them and kissed her fingers. She had given him a pained smile, even wounded, she still had faith in her husband. Will had smiled back, surveying the dragon’s damage.

How angry Hannibal must have been to do this, how desperate to do something so unseemly…so human. He pressed his mouth to Molly’s hand again, anything to keep the giddy smile from his face.

The fishmonger cleared his throat. Will started, offering him an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, how much?”

Will handed over the cash. The loose coins falling between his fingers and landing in the ice. “Shit. I-”

“It’s alright, coins can be slippery,” the man replied, fishing them out of the display.

_It’s tough to hold on to anything good. It’s all so slippery._

Will smiled to himself. “Slick as hell.”

He took the packed fish and turned, unsurprised to see Hannibal watching him. “Anniversary?”

“Of a sort.” Will nodded, heading back to their car. “Today’s the day I realized there was still a chance.” 

Hannibal fell into step beside him. “A chance at what?”

Will shifted the package to his hip, freeing his right hand to twine with Hannibal’s. He grinned when the doctor squeezed his fingers. “At this.”

* * *

Will woke to Hannibal’s teeth biting into the back of his neck, the doctor’s hand insistently fisting his cock. Typically, when Hannibal woke feeling amorous, he would feather kisses along Will’s shoulder, hands teasing until Will was begging for more. But today, Will was yanked against Hannibal’s chest, a possessive arm pinning him in place as Hannibal rutted against Will’s ass.

“Hannibal?” The teeth bit harder, snagging at tender flesh and making Will moan. He shivered, he’d spent days of his life trapped in those teeth, but it always felt like the first time. Hannibal’s fingers grew tighter, working Will with a singlemindedness that had the empath tensing. Will groaned, reaching for the lube and passing it back to Hannibal. “Let go of my cock, darlin’, I don’t want to come yet.” 

Hannibal made a noise, a sort of growling acknowledgment before he released Will’s cock. The arm banded around Will’s chest remained, Hannibal pressing Will closer and pinching a nipple. Will hummed in thanks, rubbing his ass against Hannibal’s groin as he listened to the doctor pop the cap on the lube.

A slick finger breached Will. Hannibal usually took his time prepping him. He’d murmur soft endearments into Will’s ear while painstakingly opening him inch-by-inch. It could take hours, depending on Hannibal’s mood.

Today’s mood was evidently a bit more rushed. A second finger joined the first, Hannibal efficiently working to get Will just slick enough not to tear. It was rare to catch Hannibal so desperate, Will decided to savor it.

“Hurry up, already,” Will grunted, pushing back and forcing Hannibal’s fingers deeper. “For once I wish you’d fuck me fast.”

Hannibal snarled, ripping his fingers from Will’s body and slicking his cock. He rolled Will onto his back, shoving his legs wide and settling between them. Will hooked his hands behind his knees, baring himself fully to Hannibal. There was no tender stroke along Will’s cheek, no whispered line from Keats, just an animal noise as Hannibal pressed in.

Will howled, meeting Hannibal’s snarl with one of his own. He let Hannibal’s weight hold his thighs open, moving his hands to claw at Hannibal’s back, urging him deeper and harder. Hannibal ducked low, biting at Will’s jaw as he thrust. Will grabbed at Hannibal’s head, steadying him, forcing the doctor’s stare.

“I’m here, Hannibal,” Will whispered. He gasped as Hannibal thrust hard before catching his lips for a soft kiss. Hannibal bit first, Will tasted copper as his blood bloomed on his tongue. The taste made Hannibal falter, his mouth softening against Will. When he pulled back, Will smiled at the tears in Hannibal’s eyes. “I’m here.”

The doctor shifted, his pace slowing as he carefully angled his thrusts. Will’s spine drew tight when Hannibal began hitting his prostate. Soft hands stroked Will’s thighs with reverence as Hannibal stared down at Will, panting.

Will brushed back Hannibal’s hair with a trembling hand. “Hi there.”

“W-Will, I-”

Will kissed Hannibal again, groaning as the doctor’s belly rubbed his cock. “Make me come darlin’, I want to hold you.”

Hannibal sniffed, his lip curling slightly as he redoubled his efforts. The doctor’s slick hand wormed between them, stroking Will’s cock in time with his thrusts. They kissed languidly, moaning their pleasure into each other’s mouths until Will came with a gasp, his orgasm breaking softly through his body, like the waves after a storm. Hannibal followed soon after, licking blood from Will’s panting mouth as he sobbed his release.

Once Hannibal’s breathing slowed, Will shifted, gathering Hannibal to his chest and holding him tight. He kissed Hannibal’s sweaty hair, content when he felt strong arms banding around his waist. They lay in silence for a long while. Will had learned the hard way that it wasn’t smart to push Hannibal.

“I was sentenced to life without the possibility of parole today,” Hannibal murmured.

“I know.” Will’s breath caught. He looked at his left hand, tanned and smooth. There was a time when a ring sat on his finger, cheap gold and ill-fitting. How had he forgotten?

Hannibal caught Will’s hand, worrying Will’s ring finger between his thumb and index fingers. “You gave yourself a similar sentence today, didn’t you?”

He had. He’d picked the date specifically, hoping Molly could drown out Hannibal. He feared she had for a while, feared Hannibal no longer waited for him, but Hannibal had sent him a beautiful love letter, written by Dolarhyde in his family’s blood.

“Hardly matters now,” Will whispered, kissing Hannibal’s cheek. He brought their joined hands down to his smile, tracing the scarred skin. The wound finally felt closed, after all these years. “We both escaped.” 

* * *

Will walked into the kitchen, letting out an exasperated huff when he saw Hannibal stirring the gumbo. “I thought you weren’t going to make it again. You got mad when I said my auntie’s was better.”

Hannibal glanced over his shoulder, his pristine white shirt glowing in the morning light. “Far be it from me to accept defeat when it comes to Will Graham.”

Will tugged Hannibal backward by the apron strings. “You won’t throw another fit?”

Hannibal pecked Will on the cheek, raising an eyebrow. “How could I resist?”

Will froze, glaring as the pretty white walls of their beach house faded to drab cabin walls. He could see Molly, holding a new mutt, jiggling his jowls as she petted him.

_How could I resist? Look at his face, Will!_

“Will?” Hannibal’s voice, faint echoing in the cabin.

Turning away, Will glared at the floor. He could see Molly so clearly. He searched his mind for a memory of Hannibal — something they’d done today, in this life or the life before. Hannibal had colored all the days of his life, but there was one blank spot.

Today, July 27, Will couldn’t conjure a single memory of Hannibal. They’d spent hundreds of Tuesdays together, they'd spent Julys together…

But the only image Will’s mind conjured for today was Molly, snow in her bangs, laughing and telling Will he was rubbing off on her. He gritted his teeth as Molly’s voice lilted back into his head.

_What should we name him, Buster?_

“Will?” Warm hands landed on Will’s shoulders, Hannibal’s touch never failed to ground him and light him up like a livewire. “Will, what’s wr-”

“Marry me.” Will was back in Sint Eustatius, looking into Hannibal’s worried eyes.

The doctor smiled. “Darling. Of course. Next week we could drive to-”

“Right now.” Will grabbed Hannibal’s hand, yanking him toward the door.

Hannibal laughed, pulling back to turn to grab at the pot. “Will, I need to finish the gumbo.”

“Fuck the gumbo.” Will twisted a hand in Hannibal’s apron and wrenched the doctor from the stove. Hannibal had just enough time to switch off the burner before Will hauled him from their home.

“At least let me change my shoes…WILL!” Hannibal’s complaint ended in a huff as Will bent and threw him over his shoulder. They had to get to Oranjestad before the government office closed.

Will tossed Hannibal in their car and drove, keeping one hand on Hannibal as he sped through the streets. After nearly eight years, he knew the value of holding tight to good things in his life.

It wasn’t until the Justice of the Peace asked a question that Will finally came back to himself. “I do- what?”

The woman smiled, gesturing to Hannibal. “Is there a reason for the rush? I take it he’s not pregnant.”

Will finally looked at Hannibal, realizing for the first time he’d dragged the man into town while wearing an apron and blue velvet house slippers.

“I…” Will grinned, shaking his head. Hannibal smiled back.

“You’re in your apron,” he said, helplessly.

“A non-traditional veil, but the color is appropriate.” Hannibal took Will’s hand, squeezing tight. “You may proceed, madam.”

Their vows said, but no rings exchanged, Will and Hannibal strolled down the street, hands linked and a signed marriage certificate folded in Will’s back pocket.

“I’m sorry about the rings,” Will whispered. “I’ll get you one today if you want.”

Hannibal waved dismissively. “Rings hardly matter, we’ve time for that.”

Will hummed.

“Will?” Hannibal squeezed their fingers. “Why today?”

Will looked at his husband, memories of blood and love swirling in his head until nothing else came to mind. He was Will Graham, it was 1:15 pm, and he was married to Hannibal Lecter. Will smiled wide. “I can’t remember.”

* * *

Will shuffled into the kitchen with a takeout container of gumbo. The nice girl down at the market made it for him every year. Hannibal had liked Maria, she always saved the best produce for him, even when he was too tired and weak to get down to the market when it opened.

She’d been one of four other people at his funeral last year. Maria had held Will’s hand as he told her about their anniversary dinner and cried. A month later, she’d shown up at Will’s house with a container of gumbo. And today she had rung his doorbell, dropped off some groceries and another container of gumbo, wrapped with a pretty white ribbon.

There’d been a time when he could have flirted his way to fresh gumbo whenever he’d wanted it. But Maria hugged him and kissed his cheek like a favored grandparent whenever she saw him. He supposed that’s what he was at this point. She had told him once he was distinguished, and Will supposed that was about the nicest compliment an 84-year-old could get.

Hannibal had been the really distinguished one in old age, as he was at every other age, with a shock of white hair swept back from his features, that only seemed to grow more aristocratic with age. Even when he needed help getting up in the last months, Hannibal managed to keep the bearing of a lord, shoulders straight even as his knees wobbled.

Will thought about those last months a lot recently, the echoes of Hannibal the only things rattling around the house with him now. Will had begun to see the same signs of deterioration in his own body. He welcomed them. Hannibal would have their home in the next life set up by now — he’d promised Will he would. And Hannibal never broke his promises.

The doctor had been remarkably spry until his 90s. It had come as a shock to Will the first time Hannibal collapsed, as it was when he heard the doctor remark on Hannibal’s age. It seemed impossible that anything so magnificent as Hannibal would be affected by time. When Hannibal had caught Will weeping after the doctor gave them the bad news, he’s simply smiled.

_“It’s not enough time, we haven’t-”_

_Hannibal had kissed him then, eyes still sharp. “It would never be enough time with you, my darling boy, but four decades was more than I could have possibly hoped for.”_

Will shook his head, today was a happy day, he’d have time to cry tomorrow. He had a celebration to prepare for. Will dumped the gumbo in a pot, turning it to high. He waited for the mixture to begin to burn, smiling as smoke filled the room. His eyes watered, and he could see Hannibal like he was five years ago – grey and wrinkled, sprawled on the floor naked in the cradle of Will’s arms – still the most beautiful thing Will had ever seen.

_“I can’t believe I’ve allowed this to happen again.” Hannibal let his head fall back against Will’s shoulder. The kitchen was filled with the scents of sex and burnt gumbo._

_Will laughed kissing Hannibal’s neck. “It’s a tradition. You make gumbo on our anniversary, and I never let you finish it.”_

_“Usually you at least drag me to a bed.” Hannibal pulled Will’s other arm around his waist._

_“Got home late, darlin’, we were pressed for time.” Will playfully bit Hannibal’s ear. Will shifted, carefully making sure Hannibal’s bad hip wasn’t on the hard tile. “You’re not too old to have a little fun on the floor, are you?”_

_“Dinner is ruined, you insolent boy.” Hannibal glared but smiled before kissing Will. “Was it worth it?”_

Will turned off the burnt gumbo, letting the smell fill his lungs. He felt a tear slip down his cheek, but he smiled wide at the memory. “Yeah, darlin’, it was all worth it.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Next Up:**  
>  A goofy cracky story about what happens when Hanners and Will host a guest they can't quite remember...


End file.
